


All That Remains

by MFIka



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23715820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MFIka/pseuds/MFIka
Summary: This is a two chapter draft of both Dorian's and my Inquisitor's, Elion, POV of the aftermath of Haven.Chapter 1: Dorian's POV of the aftermath of Haven.Find me on Instagram @d_a_nug!Thank you <3
Relationships: pavellan
Kudos: 3





	1. ... Is a Hand Full of Nothing

Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like days. Everything around him reminded Dorian of the vastness still ahead, but most of all it was an agonising reminder of absence. There was nothing around them except a never-ending cold whiteness, now drowned in the tight darkness of night, and nothing but moonlight to keep them company. The moon. It always reminded him of Elion. Absence. Amid so much repetitive sameness, a landscape that was unforgiving in its stretch and likeness, Dorian couldn’t stop thinking about the finitude of things. It took an hour for Haven to fall and for Elion to disappear. He refused to believe Elion had died. Not so soon into their battle, not so soon into…into whatever was happening between the two of them.

  
Dorian couldn’t shake the memory of the last proper glimpse he had gotten of Elion, the feeling of Cassandra’s tight grip still imprinted on his shoulder. That grip had saved his life, but it had costed Elion’s. It occurred to him that, even though ambushed by a giant dragon and a darkspawn creature three times his size, Elion looked courageous, tall, brave. The readiness and steadiness in his eyes had both scared and inspired Dorian. He’s ready to die for this, he remembered thinking. He had seen a small smile flash on Elion’s bruised lips and he knew that had been just for him, that for a fraction of a second Elion had allowed himself some sense of normalcy, of fragility even, just to reassure Dorian that he was in peace, that he was going to be fine. A beautiful and courageous lie.  
The sound of a gasp pulled Dorian from his reverie and he moved quickly enough just in time to aid a falling man walking next to him, supporting him with his arms and shoulders to give him the strength he was starting to fail to have. The man gave Dorian a tired look and a small nod.

“Thank you,” a small whisper, almost lost to the sound of the icy, cutting wind.

“Are you injured?” Dorian asked, trying to do his best at quickly examining the man with his eyes, although it was dark, and they were moving.

“It’s my leg, I think it’s broken,” the man said, eyes following the direction ahead and then falling to the snow crunching under their tired feet. “And I’m so tired…” he murmured.

“We need to stop!” Dorian called out ahead, where Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine marched with the little belongings they had managed to salvage with the time Elion had bought them. They were visibly cold, hurt, shaken, and tired.

  
He watched as the column of people came to a slow but welcomed halt. Cullen looked around warily. “We shouldn’t stop,” the commander said.

  
“We have to, we’re all too tired and hurt to go any further,” Leliana said in a tired breath.

  
“We’ll be an easy target,” Cullen countered but Dorian had been around the man long enough to know his strengths were failing him too.

  
“We’re already an easy target, no point in making us more tired, hurt, or too cold to go on,” Dorian countered, taking advantage of Cullen’s small hesitation.

  
Cullen sighed, biting down on the inside of his cheek, but eventually nodding. They had stopped twice before, lighting up small fires when the wounded were too sick to carry on and there was nothing else to do but to ease their passing. Dorian secretly hoped that, if Elion was somehow alive, he would follow that trail.

  
They were utterly defenceless. As the least injured people worked on preparing the camp, Dorian using his magic to light up several fires, he realised just how exposed they were. Their most talented healer, the only person among them who truly knew how to survive in the wild, even in the most adverse of circumstances – Elion – was gone. He tried to muster everything he had learnt from Elion about injuries, healing, leaves, nature… anything that could be useful. He had enjoyed pretending he didn’t care much for the topics, just to tease Elion, but, in truth, he found it fascinating. How wise and knowledgeable Elion had been about something that seemed too easy for being so natural, but much more complex than Dorian had ever imagined.

  
He helped to gather the injured closer to the fires, using whatever small spell he knew to help ease their pain, to stop bleedings, or to just help them fall asleep. Dorian himself was nursing some injuries from battle and was incredibly tired but he was too restless to sleep. He suggested herding the animals that had fled with them closer to people, so that all could be warmer. No one objected. He couldn’t tell if it was due to exhaustion or actual agreement. He didn’t really care, so long it worked. He sat down by the fire and glanced around, taking in his companions. Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine were deep in hushed conversation, no doubt trying to keep this little encampment defensible and safe and, most likely, trying to think of machinations to continue without Elion, an essential piece in this game. Most of his companions were resting, laying down, some sleeping, others too scared to do so but laying down nonetheless, giving the body the rest the mind couldn’t afford. Blackwall and Cassandra were still helping people, carrying those who couldn’t walk, feeding those who could barely move. He could understand that, for some people, stopping would mean their demise so they kept going - they helped, they worked.

  
He heard footsteps approaching and glanced up, a small smile coming to his lips.

  
“That’s the one dragon I didn’t get excited about seeing,” the Bull sighed as he sat down next to Dorian, pressing a small cloth to his head where a small gash had stopped bleeding a while ago, and offering him a small canteen with water.

  
To his own surprise, Dorian chuckled. A small sound but it still lifted a small fraction of the heavy weight he was carrying. They were all nursing wounds, some physical, but most had cut deeper than that. They were all shocked at how easily Haven had fallen, they were all grieving friends, lovers, sons and daughters, spouses, and Elion, their only hope.

  
Dorian took the canteen and took a sip of water, finding then just how thirsty he was. He glanced over at Bull who smiled and nodded. “Go ahead,” he said, eyes going to Sera, sleeping deeply next to the fire, then Varric, sitting next to her, hands hovering over the fire to warm them, eyes fixated on it.

  
“We don’t even know where we are,” Dorian murmured then, glancing back at Bull.

  
Bull met his gaze then, after making sure everyone was as safe as they could be. “No, we don’t,” he said. A small moment passed, before he added, “he’ll find us.”

  
Dorian was slightly startled by that, the crease between his brows deepening. Bull was the last person he was expecting to befriend but so much about the Inquisition had been unexpected that he barely questioned the pleasant surprises life threw at him. He had little else to go on for the time being.

  
“He’s tough, Dorian, you know that better than all of us combined,” Bull explained, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

  
“If he is alive, that means we’re only leaving him behind,” he noted, handing the canteen back to Bull.

  
“I know but we can’t turn back to look for him, we risk getting lost,” he pointed out though Dorian knew that was causing Bull just as much pain as it was Dorian. For wildly different reasons, though all connected for the love and admiration they all shared for Elion, the thought of leaving someone behind was infuriating and almost physically impossible to obey. But Bull was right. They had no clue as to their whereabouts nor where Haven – or what was left of it – was. There was nothing but icy, cold, vast whiteness around them. “It’s infuriating to think that no matter how good I am with fighting, or how knowledgeable and skilled you are with your magic, there are some situations – probably the ones where we need them the most – these are simply useless,” Bull concluded.

  
Dorian huffed a little though he didn’t fail to notice that Bull had just paid him a respectful compliment. It was true. Dorian was excellent at magic, he excelled at necromancy, but what were those good for now when all they wished to avoid was precisely the realm Dorian was the most experienced with? “Is this your idea of a comforting talk?” he teased.

  
Now it was Bull’s turn to chuckle. He patted Dorian’s back, though Dorian noticed he didn’t use his usual, unrestrained strength. Dorian really must look like shit if Bull was showing restrain in a camaraderie gesture. “You should rest,” he said.

  
“I can’t,” Dorian murmured, shaking his head. “Not yet. I can’t sleep yet. I know I’ll dream of him alone and scared,” he said, and the confession embarrassed him. He was too tired to care and, somehow, he knew Bull wouldn’t use it against him. Not now, not ever, he wouldn’t use something that cut this deep, that came from a place of such pain and grief. Usually, Dorian would be snappy, angry, disdainful of everything and everyone. But this wasn’t his normal usual self, this wasn’t a minor obstacle in his way, nor an inconvenience. And he was too tired to summon the strength to face all the impossible and seemingly insurmountable grief he was feeling with his usual methods. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. He glanced up at the sky, watching the stars and the moon, cold and shinning bright, casting a small semblance of silver light on them. “Elion loves the moon,” he murmured. “He used to tell me about how he feels the safest when he can sleep under it because, regardless of where he is, that is the one steady presence he can count on,” he said, quickly blinking the tears blurring his vision, clearing his throat awkwardly.

  
“I’m surprised he’s not a bloody bard,” Bull said with a small, amused smile, though Dorian could see his eyes were shimmering as well.

  
“He does have a way with words, doesn’t he?” he smiled a little.

  
Bull smiled and took a deep breath. “Come on, let’s rest. Even if you don’t sleep, you need to rest,” he said, tugging Dorian by his hand so he would get up from the discarded log. They joined the rest of the group by the fire and, without meaning to, he rested his head on Bull’s arm, closing his eyes.

  
He didn’t sleep, he was too feverish, too anxious to sleep, but he did see the image of Elion forming under his eyelids. But he wasn’t scared nor alone. They were strolling along the frozen river of Haven, he was laughing as he was telling Dorian about how he had once used magic to slide through a similar river and how his Keeper hadn’t been happy about his deviant, though amusing and joyful, use of magic. Dorian realised then, with an incredibly painful pang on the chest, that Elion’s laughter was one of the things that made Dorian feel so drawn to him because it was so sincere, so genuine and free of any pretence, of any worry. Dorian had envied him for it at first, but jealously slowly turned into adoration. Elion was kind just as he could be harsh, he was wise, just as he could be impulsive, and there was a lightness to everything he did, how he moved, how he spoke, something ethereal that kept drawing Dorian closer.

  
He heard the crackling of the fire, the hushed sounds of distant conversation and slowly, without intending to, he drifted off to sleep, taking comfort that he was surrounded by his companions, some of them friends.


	2. ... Is Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a two chapter draft of both Dorian's and my Inquisitor's, Elion, POV of the aftermath of Haven.
> 
> Chapter 2: Elion's POV of the aftermath of Haven and of finding his companions again.
> 
> Find me on Instagram @d_a_nug!  
> Thank you <3

With a sharp gasp, Elion came back to consciousness. He started by feeling nothing at all, numb all over, vision blurry, ears ringing. The shocking coldness around him brought his senses back just as suddenly as they had been taken and all at once he could feel his body like he had never felt it before. Everything was hurting, his limbs felt heavier than usual, and he was shaking with cold, his breath shallow and leaving a trail of smoke behind.

He closed is eyes again and focused on his breathing, trying to steady the panic clutching at his throat. After a few deep breaths, that he drew forcefully and painfully, Elion was able to control his breathing. He opened his eyes again and glanced around. Nothing but ice walls surrounded him. He had been fortunate enough – or unfortunate, he would have yet to find out – to have fallen in between mountains of icy walls and not have been swallowed in by the snow. He glanced down at his hands, grimacing when he saw an ugly bruise showing on his wrist. Slowly, he lifted his sleeve and winced. A big, ugly-looking bruise descended all the way from his shoulder to his hand – finishing where Corypheus had held him up, yanked his shoulder out of place. That would be easy enough to place back. He bit down on his lip and glanced around for his staff, soon spotting it a few meters ahead of him. Good, at least he wasn’t completely defenceless. With another deep breath, he moved, slowly, to rest his back against one of the walls – the cold from the ice helped with the pain. He recalled his Keeper’s teachings, and, with a loud groan, he moved to position his arms and head in the appropriate angles to pop his shoulder back into its proper place. The pain of it made him scream, but he doubted someone was around to hear. After the pop, an immense sense of relief washed over his body. His shoulder felt incredibly sore but it wasn’t aching like it had been before. He felt around with his hand, closing his eyes to focus properly. Some of his ribs seemed to be cracked, which would explain the difficulty in breathing. His head felt light and dizzy, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had sustained some sort of injury during the impact and consequent fall.

He slowly crawled over to his staff, curling his fingers around it. He moved tiredly to get up, leaning his weight on the staff, feeling then the blood trickling down from his nose and to his lips. He leaned down to tear a piece of fabric from his robe, then gathering some of the ice to put in it, wrapping it and pressing it against his nose. He needed to move or else he would freeze to death here. Or starve. Or be caught by Corypheus’ forces. He had no idea where he was, where his enemies were, but, most importantly, where his friends were. He hesitated then, when he thought of them, seeing them last before everything turned dark and undefined. Could he live with finding out he had failed them? Could he endure finding out they had died at the hands of Corypheus and that the future he had seen with Dorian was already underway? _Dorian_ …

He leaned against his staff and glanced ahead through the only dark hallway in front of him. He was again presented with a choice – continue or give up? How could he continue when he wasn’t even sure he could do anything but watch his friends, his family, his clan suffer and wither away? How could he give up when there was a hint of hope that they might have survived? That they might be alive, out there, waiting for him, looking for him?

With a decided hum, Elion started to make his way through the hallway. He was tired, so tired. His body and mind were begging him to stop, to rest, but he knew if he sat back down and fell asleep now, he would never have the courage to get back up again and that would be his end. People were counting on him, he had to persevere. Plus, he was sure Dorian would never forgive him if he just disappeared. _Dorian_ …

Soon enough, a harsh, icy wind hit his cheeks, helping him to rouse from his state of automatisation, just putting one leg in front of the other, without a true sense of where he was or where he was going. He glanced around then and his heart sank. There was nothing but an endless vastness of snow, harsh winds, abandoned trees and no other sign of life. _Come now, Elion… You can figure this out_.

He glanced around, his sore arm still pressed against his chest, as he tried to get a bearing of where he was. He couldn’t be far from Haven but what had been Haven was now mostly a pile of rubble. He felt guilty when he saw it – would there be survivors? Would he be leaving them behind?

“Hello?” He called out, though he was very much aware that he could be attracting whoever was out there, good or bad. Nothing but the wind replied.

He pressed forward, protecting his face with his arm from the harsh wind, grunting in effort to raise it as his healthy arm was holding tightly to his staff, keeping him up and balanced. He was shaking, freezing, in under a minute. He had to find shelter and find it soon. He tried his best to focus on the environment around him, look for clues. He followed the path that would lead to the forest, keeping what was left of Haven to his right. The next town, the closest one, would be in that direction though it would take a provision of men in horses around a week to reach it, he refused to think about how long it would take him, if he would reach it at all.

He walked and walked, losing track of time or of distance travelled. Although he was trying his best to be wary of his surroundings, Elion found himself getting lost in thought, a half delirious state in which it was becoming harder and harder to focus.

He thought back to the last time he had seen Dorian, not in battle, that half glance and poorly conveyed smile. No, the last time he had properly seen Dorian and had talked to him was in the festivities in Haven, when they all thought they were celebrating a victory instead of being about to fall into the clutches of their biggest defeat yet.

_He had been laughing at something Varric had just said when_ _I_ _arrived with two glasses of wine in_ _my_ _hand._ _I_ _smiled at Dorian, passed him one of the glasses. With a silent cheer,_ _we_ _both drank, eyes still on each other._

The howl of a wolf in the distance bought him back to reality and he realised something crunched under his foot. He glanced down and made a sound of surprise. The remnants of a fire stuck to the sole of his boots. He leaned down and felt the ashes between his fingers - cold, like everything else around him. But this could mean he was following in the footsteps of his companions. With new determination, Elion pushed through the howling of the wind, feeling like his skin might crack under such a deep, bone-reaching cold. He had never felt anything like it.

_Dorian’s eyes lingered on mine and I knew that if had we been alone we would have kissed right there, filled with the euphoric satisfaction of victory... no, more than victory, of having made it with our lives and knowing that both of us lived._

Squinting his eyes, Elion could make out the vague shape of what seemed like an abandoned camp site. It must have been hours since Elion first encountered the ashes from the fire. Reaching the camp site, he looked for the embers of the fire and found them, easily. This time they were warm. He must be so close. To what he couldn’t say but he was pas the point of caution - he would either die here, freezing, injured, and alone, or killed by whoever he could accidentally stumble upon. But he could also be saved and recover with his companions.

“Hello?” He called again, once more hearing the howling of wolves. They didn’t sound too distant but Elion knew he didn’t have the strength to fight them. “Anyone? Dorian?” He called out as he walked. The wind was deafening, he would be surprised if someone could hear him at all.

He continued to walk, eyes close as he just walked, allowing his legs to function without his conscious permission - he was too tired, too weak to continue. Just then, though, he heard a familiar voice.

“Thank the Maker! It’s him!” he could hear Cullen’s voice from afar but his vision was too blurry. The only thing he could make out was the warm light of fires, the welcoming and comforting sight of groups of people.

It was Cullen’s voice that welcomed him back to his group of people but it was Dorian’s arms that reassured him he was safe, at last. He fell, the remaining strength abandoning his legs, and he collapsed onto Dorian’s arms.

Hours passed before he woke up again. He felt warmer, safer, less afraid. His body was still aching but he wasn’t so bothered by it anymore. He squeezed the hand he felt tangled with his and smiled a little. _Dorian..._ He opened his eyes and glanced up, humming a little when he saw the other mage, watching him with concern and reluctance.

“I’m all right,” he managed a murmur and a small chuckle when Dorian exhaled loudly, releasing the tension that had clearly been afflicting him. “Are you all safe? All here?” He asked.

“Yes, you arrived fashionably late,” he said with a small smile though the mix of worry and relief was clear in his eyes.

“I always do try to make an entrance,” he tried a small joke and attempted to sit up. Dorian quickly moved to aid him, supporting his back. “I thought...” Elion murmured, leaning closer to Dorian and resting his forehead on Dorian’s.

“I know. So did I,” Dorian murmured, rubbing his back reassuringly but being careful all the same. Who knew what kind of injuries Elion was nursing after such a brutal fight and journey to find them. “But you’re here now. No matter what happens, we’re all here.”

Elion smiled a little and nodded, closing his eyes to allow himself to bask in Dorian’s presence, in the feeling of complicity and safety he always felt whenever the other man was around.

Placing the softest kiss to his forehead, Dorian leaned away then. “Mother Giselle wanted to speak to you as soon as you woke up,” he said and chuckled when Elion groaned. “I thought you would probably prefer to see my handsome face when you woke up first.”

“Good call,” he chuckled a little and, for the first time, glanced around. There was pain, grief, and need all around him but there was also hope, strength, and perseverance. For the first time that night, Elion felt like they might actually make it. Seeing everyone helping and caring for one another told Elion that now, that they were all finally reunited, they had a better chance.

Dorian left his side, soon to be replaced by Mother Giselle. The conversation wasn’t too pleasant as he and the priestess didn’t really see eye to eye on many a thing but one thing did ring true - he had to be whatever the people needed him to be. Despite his injuries and his tiredness, he had to set himself aside, put away his needs, and lead this people... well, somewhere.

He glanced over at his advisers and smiled a little. Despite everything - injuries, hunger, thirst, cold, fear - there they were, arguing fearlessly over what to do next, refusing to lower their arms and give up. Elion needed to do the same, he needed to be their unifying link.

With a deep breath, he got up, giving Dorian a small but reassuring smile - nothing like the smile he had given him right before he faced Corypheus. No, this time it was different. This time there was hope. This time wasn’t a goodbye. This time marked the beginning of it all and Elion would remember that night as one of the most defining of his life. This time they would march towards home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support!

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued...
> 
> Find me on Instagram @d_a_nug!  
> Thank you <3


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